new york times

There’s this van culture thing happening. Cute 20-somethings are living in vans. 🚐They look like rape vans on the outside, but are baller tiny hipster homes on the inside with solar panels, interior designed kitchens, and plush memory foam pads. When an early-20-something clean-cut-good-kid told me he was moving into a van to save money so he could travel the world the only thought that came to my mind was, I wish I would have done that when I was his age.

We just ate the whole cake. That’s right, if you watched IT, then you were just forced to eat the whole fucking cake without knowing what was underneath the frosting.🎂

Do you taste it? The after?… That flavor is a pallet that just doesn’t go away after a rinse; it’s the smell lurking type.👃🏾

The theme of this article is “what isn’t being said after it was all said.” Scared to be too late into the Glover dance analyzation game, after 5 days of rewrites, no sleep, and deep hesitation about what is wrong or right to say, I’ve come to the conclusion that I’d rather fail big than fail small. I have to do what I feel. Michael Jordan and Kobe Bryant broke the record for the most shots in the NBA, but what no one ever talks about is that they also have the most missed shots. You gotta keep throwing shit out there. I never want to hurt anyone and don’t intend to. If I’m wrong, then I’m wrong. Make sense of what you will, this is just my art, my rap track. Being culturally appropriate here at TLG. 👊🏽

Here we go. After eating Glover’s whole cake, I drove through one of the blackest streets in America blasting Donald Glover’s This is America, something felt so wrong about publicly playing that song as black people glanced, like I was exposing it to cultural appropriation, and for playing it and not being black. There’s an entire conversation about Glover’s video that we aren’t having. What isn’t being talked about is, is it appropriate for a non-black person to enjoy the song and dance to it? What’s appropriate? Intention is. Moral is.

After cruising through the streets whilst during a media triad of Glover, the Met Gala, and Kanye’s free thoughts, this story came to me. It’s what I thought of, so I wrote it. Here we go. Fail big.

The west changes faster than the wild. The Harbinger Gorilla.

There once was a King Silverback Gorilla. He looked after his own, kept his family safe from outsiders, and knew that his type were being hunted and on the verge of extinction. He could always foretell when danger lurked and taught others how to spot it. He was brave and in moments when an attacker approached, he would beat his chest, growl, and doing everything he could to distract the danger until his pack family could flee to safety. When he and his family weren’t running from poachers and had a moment to rest, he’d find a grassy patch were the sun shined and he’d begin to sing. His family would often join in with the hums and hoos. The King was growing old and was tired. He had a big heart and always hoped that the poachers from the West could exist with gorillas peacefully like the rest of the Wild. One day, whilst happily in the free sun, the King was relaxed and saw several poachers coming forth. Un-instinctually and sun-dazed, he thought “maybe if I showed them I was friendly, they’d come join and sing with us.” He started to hum and dance to distract the poachers, but his family got confused. “Why would King hum and not growl?” Because they followed King, the rest of the pack joined in and sang and danced in front of the men with guns. The poachers had never seen something like this before. “Gorillas dancing? What a rare thing to join in on.” So the poachers joined in and danced with the primates and even locked both their five-finger-hands, but as time passed and the gorillas were ready to retreat to the forest, the hums stopped and thats when the poachers were no longer distracted. It was fun, but unlike gorillas, poachers are carnivores and they had to feed with a their bounties. So as the gorillas waved goodbye and turned their trusted backs, a poacher made a monkey sound, “oo ah ah”, KEEP READING👀

“My youth is the foundation of me.” serenades American Teen, Khalid. It’s true. The big house, the fancy car, the ‘perfect’ family are no longer the American Dream. Time is. Travel is. Youth is.

O.G. talk, the term “American Dream” came with a credit line. With great credit comes great debt. Rich or dirt poor, regardless of the life you were born into, if you were born in this great country and worked hard, social mobility was intended to be your right. “Life should be better and richer and fuller for everyone, with opportunity for each according to ability or achievement” squabbled the great James Turslow Adams in 1931.

A line of credit was the opportunity for a family to build a good family with a house, a car, and freedom. Think about the first time you were offered a credit card, where did it happen? At a bank or a clothing store? Now a line of credit means you can get 50% deals at GAP.

My student loan debt was worth it.

Please Listen. Watch. Feel.

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It took writing this article to get that it was all worth it, even though I’m under qualified or over qualified for every job I apply for in 2018. I took out student loans at 16 age for my dreams.

Why is it we barely remember our actual dreams when we wake, but we describe our deepest wants and desires with the use of the word “dream”? Can you really follow a dream?

What about the still dreamers? Aren’t you still dreaming? Or has Kanye’s cruel world crushed what you thought was once possible? Nothing is impossible, but not for everyone. Nothing is impossible for me. Nothing is impossible for Kayne West. Nothing is impossible for that kid that thinks he’s a robot and a dragon and invisible. For those of you who no longer dream, it’s true, there is a lot that is impossible. KEEP READING👀

“Lakshman lakshman lakshman ong ong lakshman. Now shake your hips as fast as you can, imagine gold, and let your kundalini rise! Chant this to get rich in 2017.” preached a white blonde “guru” sitting on a golden throne wearing a white turban.

In the dark, I hypnotically moved my body, my arms swung from side to side and I imaged money pouring down. The freedom to just move compulsively, to reach wide and fast and sensual as I felt, plus it was gonna get rich. I had become a hindu God, Ganesh, with slithering arms and an elephant’s trunk defying gravity. Every time I said the mantra “lakshman,” I could take myself into this mythological cave world filled with mountains of gold and the luck of the Irish.

I’m Mel-a-n-i-e

“I solemnly swear I am up to no good.”

Made when no one was watching, I'm no one, not yet. Rules do not apply to me and often find myself searching for the impossible simply to prove it isn’t. Hyper-critical, every day I’m a different person. I’m a time keeper, never late and always on the dot in fear losing time and wondering "what if." I’ve learned time doesn’t wait for you.

After years of creating identities and building brands for other people, I'm finally creating my own. No more mind body crystal bullshit "influencers." I finally know what I want, and that is to be and do everything. I was told you can’t be everything, but game on. I'm best at writing from experience or I won't write, so this editorial has no rules. Like myself, it’s a rare exotic breed that might die if you try to catch it.

TLG was 92% designed & manifested by Melanie. The other 8% is a sandbox of Disney icons, classical art, & loved music. #legitAF